


Love never dies

by TrenchcoatsandMisery



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Owen thinks tatiana and curt are doing it, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spies & Secret Agents, This fandom wrecked me, owen lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 05:25:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19144447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrenchcoatsandMisery/pseuds/TrenchcoatsandMisery
Summary: It’s difficult sometimes. It’s little things that set it off, that stoke the burning anger he keeps pushed down. Bananas. Metal steps. And right now, Russian.Owen is alive but whether or not he's ok is a different question. Curt and Tatiana aren't helping.





	Love never dies

It’s difficult sometimes. It’s little things that set it off, that stoke the burning anger he keeps pushed down. Bananas. Metal steps. And right now, Russian. It drives Owen crazy, the rolling R’s, the lilting tone. He doesn’t even realise his fingers are pressing so deep into his palm until they draw blood, doesn’t realise he’s glaring at Curt and Tatiana until the man shoots him a concerned look.

It’s all Curt does now. Cast him sad, worried looks and talk to him that infuriatingly soft voice that he thinks changes the fact that Owen doesn’t sleep anymore, can’t remember half of the last four years and almost shot Curt in the head. This time Owen thinks Curt might actually say something, watches his mouth open hesitantly, wonders what he’ll say and how he should respond. But then _Tatiana_ is talking to him and Curt turns away and that is that. She laughs, Curt laughs and Owen looks away before he feels the impulse to shoot them both. These things happen sometimes, dark urges that address him as the Deadliest man alive, that whisper from the darkest corners of his mind that have grown in the last couple of years.

_He left you for dead, calls himself the world’s greatest spy when he couldn’t even save you. So take it back._

_She’s pretty. Makes him laugh. Hasn’t murdered 1148 people. There’s only one way you can take down that Russian bitch and that’s with the cold muzzle of a gun._

He ignores them, keeps up his mask and reminds himself that Curt chose **HIM**. But when he looks back and watches as Curt smiles at something Tatiana says, watches as she gently places her hand on his shoulder, he remembers why he took the bullets out of his gun.  
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………….  
Owen Carvour is not what Tatiana expected. Listening to Curt talk about him she’d expected a charming, quick-witted character who acted with calm and logic. In her interactions with the deadliest man alive, she’d seen cold rationale, manic joy in the act of killing and a certain kind of brevity that kept an element of mystery to his person. This man is… A strange combination of them both.  
He is quiet most of the time, alternating between staring with intense focus at something or slipping away into a blank look as he retreats to his mind. He sits still as stone, with the exception of his hands which move constantly picking at his fingernails or tugging at his sleeves. When he does talk, which is rare, it is with a sharp tongue and cutting words and a look in his eyes that dares you to bring it up. It does not take a genius to see that he is broken, but it seems that only she can see the monster beneath, all too similar to the one she keeps caged. Oblivious, Curt flits around him nervously, and Tatiana can’t tell if he can’t or won’t see the way that Owen holds himself, how occasionally his eyes darken and his gun hand twitches.

She’s watching him when the beast slams at its bars, can see him out of the corner of her eye reach for his gun, keeps smiling and laughing with Curt to distract him when Owen gets up and leaves the room. What compels her to follow him, she doesn’t know. Maybe it’s that she sees herself in his eyes sometimes, a thirteen-year-old turned killing machine fighting not to be consumed by the oily darkness that comes with death.

She finds him outside, staring blankly at the parking lot, cradling a bloody hand. She doesn’t mention the hole in the wall behind him, instead standing next to him. 

“You shouldn’t have to pretend.”

He doesn’t look at her and she isn’t sure he heard her. 

“Curt doesn’t understand.”

She laughs at that. But when she turns to look at him, he’s staring at her with defeat in his eyes. 

“Curt would. He cares about you.”

This time he laughs, though it’s bitter and dark and she can’t help but take a step back. He notices, steps closer and there’s that darkness in his eyes as he pushes her against the wall.

“Curt doesn’t love anything but himself, and if he did it wouldn’t be me little ms Russia. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, the way he touches-“

“And you don’t see the way he looks at you? The way he touches you?”

Owen lets go, opens his mouth to argue but she cuts him off.

“You don’t see the way he watches you when you talk, smiles when you laugh no matter how twisted the joke? The way he hides your knives at night so you can’t hurt yourself, the way he fumbles a sentence or says something idiotic to distract you even if it means you snapping at him? You, Owen, are an idiot if you can’t see that the man inside has torn apart his life for you. He told me about you two, that you loved him and he loved you, but you’re telling me you can’t see how hopelessly in love he is?”

She’s breathing heavily as she finishes, can feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. Owen however, looks pale and staggers away from her, turning and running into the night. Damn. Maybe she went too far.


End file.
